Ain't No Thing But A Sex Thing
by nikiness
Summary: Walt gets THE talk on his thirteenth birthday.


**Title: **Ain't No Thing But A Sex Thing

**Author: **Allie

**Rating: **PG-13-ish. I'm not sure how loose I was with my language.

**Disclaimer: **Yes. I own Lost and all of the characters and I am filthy rich. I also have Dom locked away in my closet for my own...personal... use. However, I spend all of my free time writing fic instead of counting my millions. Pfft, I own nothing. Sue me and all you'll get is a Nirvana cd and some cherry coke cans. Trust me, it's not worth it.

**Pairings: **Implied Charlie/Claire and that's about it. It's not really a couple-y type of story.

**Summary: **Walt gets THE talk on his thirteenth birthday.

**Authors Note: **_Umm, yeah. So basically this story came about on a walk to Muddy's with my bestest minion-- I mean, friend-- Kristin. So she gets muchos credit for helping me come up with this twisted little fic. And also much love for beta'ing it for me and fixing all my stupid mistakes. :huggles: _

_Anyway, this is a lot different from the stuff I usually write-- there's NO angst:gasps of shock: Just some fun for the whole family akwardness and fluff. It's centered around Walt and set three years after the crash, on his thirteenth b-day. _

_Um, comments will be begged for and flames giggled at so knock yourselves out, ya hurrd? _

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Everything was going to be different now, and Michael had never really liked change. Honestly, things had been changing for a while, slowly and almost unnoticeably at first, but the changes were there. He'd seen this coming, but he'd covered it up with denial and akward jokes.

But now, he couldn't deny it anymore, he couldn't pretend that Walt wasn't almost as tall as him and growing more and more ganglier by the second. He couldn't deny the breaking of his son's boyish voice on certain words or the peach fuzz darkening on his upper lip.

"Dude, who killed your puppy?" A thick, wild-haired shadow fell over Michael. Hurley, obviously. Michael shrugged and slumped down farther in the sand along the tree line. Hurley plopped down to the ground next to him and gave him a questioning look.

"It's Walt's thirteenth birthday today," Michael conceded.

Hurley looked confused, raising one bushy eyebrow and giving Michael a _so what?_ expression. Michael sighed, "His _thirteenth_ birthday. He's going to be thir_TEEN_."

Hurley's expression remained unchanged for a few seconds and then this information seemed to sink in. "Ohh," he mumbled, and then, his eyes widened. "_Ohhhhhhhhhh_," he mumbled with understanding.

Michael sighed even heavier and turned to watch his son running after Vincent by the water. He didn't look anything like the ten-year-old boy he'd been when they'd first crashed on that god damned island. He didn't really look much like a boy anymore, Michael noticed, his eyes welling up.

Hurley didn't let this fact go unnoticed and rolled his eyes, "Dude, you are like _such_ a dad."

Michael didn't respond. After a few seconds, he mumbled half to himself, "I guess I have to talk to him..."

"'Bout what?" Hurley asked, a second later recognition dawned on him, "Ohhhhhh, _that_ talk."

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Walt drew his knees up to his chest, leaning back against a tree trunk a few yards away from the crackling fire where most of the adults were sitting, cooing over Claire's now three-year-old toddler. The baby, Matthew, was sucking on his fist and happily letting Shannon bounce him up and down on her lap.

He felt his father behind him before he saw him. Michael sat in the sand next to him and patted his son akwardly on the shoulder. "So, uh, happy birthday, Walt."

Walt shrugged it off, it was just like another day to him. Just like the year he turned eleven and the year he turned twelve. Why should this year be any different? No cake, no presents, no party... nothing for him to get excited about.

Michael handed him something that felt like a bunch of papers, halved over to make a book. "It's a-- a comic book," his father said, hesitating. "I, uh, I drew it myself... I thought you might want one you can actually read."

A few moments of silence settled between them while Walt flipped through the pencil drawn comic. "Listen," Michael began. "I really need to talk to you about something... "

Walt looked up expectantly, waiting for Michael to continue. "Um, I need to talk to you about... uh... about..." he glanced up at the tree tops, as though expecting the answers to be written somewhere on their waxy green leaves. "You're not a little boy anymore, son," Michael said finally, rushing it out with a single breath. "You're becoming an... uh, you're becoming a man, I guess... Well, I mean, of course you're becoming a man. I mean, what would you be becoming? A woman?"

Walt, completely confused, chose to keep silent as his father kept stuttering. "Um, and I--" Michael suddenly jumped up and called out to no one in particular "What! Oh! Okay!" and then more quietly, "Uh, we'll have to finish this talk later son, I think Jack needs me for something..."

He turned and disappeared as fast as he could back into the caves, leaving Walt looking dazed and confused behind him.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"So, you choked hard, huh?" Hurley asked after Michael recounted his failed attempt at the birds and the bees talk.

"Real hard," Michael reitterated, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "What am I going to do man? I have to tell him sometime... before... before... well, before _things_ start happening..."

"What things?" Hurley asked, "Look around, man. I don't think your kids' gonna be getting too much action on this island, unless 70-something-year-old French women are his thing."

Michael shot Hurley a look and the big man just shrugged, "Hey, s'all I'm sayin'... anyway, dude, ever heard that takes a kid to raise a village saying?"

"You mean, it takes a village to raise a kid?"

"Yeah, that. Maybe you should get someone else to do it," Hurley suggested, "Someone who isn't Walt's father... or me."

"You mean pass the buck?" Michael asked, as though it hadn't really occured to him. "I like the way you think, Hurley, my man."

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"So, uh, you see Walt..." Jack concluded, feeling not entirely comfortable with this situation.

Walt was sitting on a pile of old clothes and linens that had been bound together to make some sort of chair. Probably by Claire or Kate soon after they'd crashed. They were in the caves and Jack was squatting across from the boy, tapping his fingers on his knees akwardly.

"Um, when a person-- a boy-- reaches--- well, usually around the age of twelve or thirteen-- although sometimes youner and sometimes older, that really isn't a set age limit for this... but certain bodly changes take place. The test-- um, the testi--."

Jack suddenly jerked to his feet and cocked his head towards the entrance of the caves, "Hey, hang on a sec kid, I think I Kate needs me for something. I'll catch you later and we can uh-- yeah."

He took off like Walt had just suggested that he eat Claire's baby or something. Walt's long fingers played with the torn hole in the knee of his jeans. Why the hell was everyone acting so jumpy around him lately? They looked at him like a live H-bomb, wondering when he would finally go off and blow them all up.

He stood up and wandered down to the beach. The sun was beating down on him and it was already uncomfortably hot. But then again, when wasn't it uncomfortably hot on the Island? Even in the supposed _winter_ months it was still sweltering.

"Hey there, uh, Walt," a voice from his left, lilting in an English accent, said. Walt was starting to get nervous every time someone came up to him now and Charlie, who looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, didn't give him a very good vibe.

"Listen," Charlie rushed on, doing this odd kind of hopping walk, like he had far too much anxious energy to slow down and walk normally. "Girls-- they're trouble. Just, uh, stay away from the girls. Girls lead to rock and roll and that leads to sex and sex leads to drugs and drugs lead to-- wait, no! Let me start again! Girls lead to drugs and drugs lead to sex and sex leads to-- no. Uh, bloody..."

Walt had stopped walking at this point and just stared while Charlie tried to compose himself. "Ahhh, bugger. Listen, what I'm trying to say is that girls-- uh, women-- they're just not something you wanna be getting yourself mixed up with. So uh, stay away from girls, ok, kid?"

Confused, Walt nodded and watched Charlie give a very relieved sigh and lope off back towards the water line where Claire and Matthew were sitting on a blanket. Both wore oversized straw hats and were giggling.

Back towards the tree line, he saw Shannon, pacing and seeming like she was waiting for something. With a feeling of dread, Walt got the feeling that she was waiting for him. His fears were confirmed when she jerked up her head, saw him, and gestured wildly for him to come over to her.

"Uh oh," he muttered and reluctantly trudged up the beach.

Half an hour later, he was still listening to Shannon talk about the importance of reciprocation. Not that he knew what he was supposed to be reciprocating... but still. She really talked a lot.

"So yeah, just remember," she said, hopefully winding up her speech, "If a girl does... uh, certain _things_ for you... don't even think that you're not _obligated_ to do certain... _things_ for her. It's not your god given write to have... _things_. It's a priviege and you'd better treat it like that!"

She nodded to herself, as though pleased that it had all gone well and feeling like her point had been made. Michael's head was starting to hurt and he wondered if Sun had anything growing that could help. The supply of asprin had long ago been used up.

He nodded and made agreeing noises and prayed that Shannon would leave. Finally, she smiled broadly, patted his arm and practically skipped away. As soon as she was out of eyeshot, Walt slumped to the ground, still unbeleivably confused. What exactly _was_ he supposed to be reciprocating? As he sat there, a shadow fell over him and his stomach clenched in anxious knots. What now?

Sawyer stood over him, looking slightly put off, which was about as close to nervous as he could manage. He had something in his hand, just behind his back; he threw the packet of magazines and some condoms down on the sand next to Walt, rubbed his palm over the back of his head and then nodded to himself and walked off.

Walt picked up one of the magazines and opened it up. His eyes widened when he saw the first picture and then widened even farther when he turned the page. Two naked women were twisted up together and one of them was licking the other...

Walt's dark cheeks blushed red and he quickly dropped the magazine like it had scalded his hands. He gathered up the stash and hid it under some shrubbery a few yards into the jungle and hoped no one had seen him with the stack of Penthouses and Hustlers.

What the hell had that been all about?

As he walked back out onto the beach, Claire jogged up beside him, Charlie and baby no where to be seen.

"Walt!" she said, as though she'd been looking for him for hours, "There you are. I want to talk to you about something..."

Fourteen minutes later, Claire had him by the shoulders and was practically shouting at him, "And if you EVER get a girl in TROUBLE and then just WALK OFF and LEAVE her and she had to go to a psychic who scares her into getting on a PLANE and crashing on a DESERT ISLAND to raise the kid BY HERSELF then I'll... I'll kill you myself, ok?"

Walt's mouth was hanging slightly open and he was starting to wonder if he should talk to Jack about the likelihood of everyone on the Island getting sun poisoning at the same time. "Um... yeah, I uh, yeah..." he muttered. Claire's angry face melted into her gorgeous, warm grin again and she gave him a big hug. "Good," she said nodding and hugged him again before walking back in the direction she'd come.

"Was that Claire?" a voice asked from in front of him as he watched her departing back. He turned back around to see his father, looking almost as nervous as he had a few nights ago when all of this weird shit had happened.

"Uh, yeah..." Walt muttered, silently wishing that whatever it was that lurked in the jungle would come out here and swallow him whole.

"Listen, son. We never finished our talk..." Michael said, taking a deep breath.

"About what?" Walt asked, shifting his weight impatiently. All he really wanted right about then was to be alone... and maybe a nap. He was confused and all of the "important talks" had given him a migraine.

"...Well uh, you're thirteen now, son. You're almost a man and it's time we talked about uh... man... things."

Walt raised an eyebrow, "You mean the sex talk?"

Michael's eyes widened almost comically and he stammered, "Uh, ye-- I, uh... um... yes... uh, that."

"Mom had that talk with me when I was like eight."


End file.
